Crimes of Memory (A Detective Jackson Mystery) (4 page)

For a moment, the storage unit was silent. Jackson visualized a desperate man with a knife waiting in the dark, just inside the door. Adrenaline pulsed in his veins. If he didn’t lead, Evans would. Jackson lunged sideways, weapon straight out.

And nearly collided with their suspect. A giant man had stepped out of the storage unit. The patrol officer aimed his flashlight at the man’s face. It was smeared with blood.

CHAPTER 3

“Hands in the air!” Jackson yelled. The suspect raised his long, ape-like arms, stopping at shoulder height. Heavy eyelids half covered his dazed eyes. Jackson moved quickly behind the man. “On your knees.”

“I’m not armed. Don’t hurt me.” The suspect dropped to one knee, then the other. Even kneeling, he was tall.

With Evans covering him, Jackson holstered his weapon and quickly cuffed the man. He thought about his stun gun, which he’d left in the car and now wished he had with him. The guy probably weighed three fifty, and even cuffed the suspect could do damage if he decided to rush them.

“You got this under control?” the patrol officer asked.

“Not yet.” Jackson wished his longtime partner, Schak, was there too. Evans was smart and fast and had excellent fighting skills, but her small frame and heart-shaped face weren’t intimidating. “Check the unit for anyone else. I heard crying sounds.”

“That was me.” The man hung his head. “I was sleeping and had nightmares.”

The patrol officer stepped cautiously into the dark storage space.

“Sleeping? Is this your unit?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah, this is my home.”

What the hell?
How many other cold, dark storage spaces served as homes? And how long had this been going on? “What’s your name?”

“Todd Sheppard.”

“What happened here tonight, Todd? Why did you kill Craig Cooper?”

“I didn’t.” The man shook his head vehemently. “Craig was my friend.”

“There’s blood on your face. Just make it easy on yourself and tell me what happened.”

“I had a nosebleed. I have high blood pressure.”

Jackson wanted to get this suspect into a bright room where he could see his face and watch his body language. But Jackson wasn’t ready to leave the crime scene. “Let’s go into the office and talk.”

The patrol officer stepped out of Sheppard’s unit. “It’s clear, but you’ve got to see it.”

Jackson turned to Evans. “Take Mr. Sheppard to the office. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Disappointment registered on her face. “I’m on it.”

She gestured for the suspect to get up and steered him toward the front. He was twice her size, at least six-five, and it looked a bit like a child leading an adult. A fearless child.

Jackson stepped into the storage space and switched on his flashlight. A heap of bedding took up an area near the front, but beyond that items were piled to the ceiling. Old paintings, beat-up
dressers stuffed with shabby clothing, and boxes filled with pots and pans, candles, and every kind of knickknack. Jackson’s first thought was that these were stolen goods. But, just as quickly, he realized this was junk, probably left at the curb by people who didn’t want it. Garage sale items that hadn’t sold or were priced for a nickel. One box contained packages of cookies, bread, and peanut butter. A small tire held a ceramic pot with a sickly-looking plant, and a small battery-powered lantern sat alongside the bedding.

Jackson wondered how long the man had lived like this. Where did he shower and eat most of his meals? At the Mission?

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” The officer pointed his light at the yellowish plant.

“But it’s a place to get out of the weather, and it offers more privacy than the Mission.” Jackson rather admired Sheppard for trying. Unless the suspect had stabbed their victim over a broken toaster. “Let’s do a quick search for the weapon, then I’ll let the crime scene people know this area is next for evidence collection.”

The patrol officer looked up. “Too bad there’s no lightbulb in here, but I suppose that would be too expensive for the owners.”

“My team will conduct a thorough search tomorrow in the daylight.”

A cursory search of the bedding, boxes, and drawers produced several knives, none of which looked bloody or even damp from the rain.

“He probably tossed the murder weapon,” the officer said. “I’ll get back to the perimeter search.”

Jackson headed for the front office. He found the first patrol officer standing outside with the owners under a halide light. Jackson realized the trailer didn’t have room for them once Evans took their oversize suspect inside.

He introduced himself but didn’t offer his hand and instead pulled off his latex gloves. The older gentleman said, “I’m Ezra Goldstein and this is my wife, Sally.”

“Do you know the victim, Craig Cooper?”

“Not personally. He is a client though.”

“What contact information do you have for him?”

Sally spoke up. “He gave us his sister’s address and said he was looking for his own place.” Sally handed him a piece of yellow lined paper. “I wrote it down for you.”

“Thanks.” Under the light, Jackson could make out the name
Jane Niven
. The woman in the photo from Cooper’s wallet. “How long has Craig Cooper rented the unit from you?”

“Only about six weeks.” Sally shook her head. “It’s so tragic. I don’t know how it happened. We have decent security.”

“What about cameras?” Jackson asked.

“Just one here in front.” Ezra Goldstein pointed to a camera mounted at the end of the trailer. “It records the activity at the gate near the security-code box.”

“Did you know people were living in your units?”

Neither owner would meet Jackson’s eyes. “We suspected,” Sally finally said, “but we don’t watch the security video unless something happens.”

“We’ll need to see the last few days. Can you save the file to a flash drive for me?”

“Of course.”

“How well do you know Todd Sheppard?” Jackson had his notebook in hand but had little hope of getting answers.

“We don’t know any of our customers.” Ezra sounded a little defensive. “We see them when they sign up to rent a unit, then not usually again. They mail a check or use PayPal. Only a few stop in and pay in person, but they don’t stay and chat.”

“Do you have any idea who would want to kill Craig Cooper?”

“None.” Ezra shook his head. “We haven’t spoken to him since he rented the unit early last month.”

“Any unusual activity around here? Or signs of stolen goods?”

“Nothing recently.” Sally hugged herself against the cold. “But we don’t monitor what people bring in here. How could we?”

Jackson handed her a business card. “I may have more questions after I talk to the suspect.”

“We’ll wait in the car.”

It had started to rain again and Jackson didn’t blame them. He hated to make the old couple stay out here, but this was a homicide investigation and they’d survive the inconvenience.

Inside the twenty-foot trailer, Evans paced behind the desk, and Todd Sheppard sat in the chair next to the door. Or Jackson assumed there was a chair. He couldn’t actually see it. Todd’s body completely covered whatever was under him. Cramped, cluttered, and illuminated only by an overhead lightbulb, the space was still better than the interrogation room at headquarters. Eventually, Jackson would take Sheppard downtown to make a formal statement, but he wanted to question him here and now, before the suspect got intimidated by the thought of incarceration. Jackson also didn’t want to leave the big man unattended in the interrogation room while they verified his story. The last time he’d done that, the suspect had had a seizure.

“Want me to record this?” Evans asked. “I have a camcorder with me.” From her shoulder bag, she dug out a little white device the size of a cell phone, only a little thicker. Jackson held back a smile. Evans was prepared for everything.

“Good idea.” He turned to their suspect. “We’re going to record your statement, all right?”

Sheppard blinked, still looking sleepy. “Okay, but I told you, I didn’t do anything.”

“Let’s start at the beginning.” Jackson took a second metal chair and turned it to face his suspect. “Where were you earlier tonight?”

“The library, then I had dinner at the free restaurant on Eighth Street.”

“Did you see Craig?”

“No.” Sheppard looked puzzled. “Craig works at the gas station.”

“Which station?”

“Four Corners. Right down the road.”

“Do you have a job?”

Sheppard shook his head. “I’m disabled.”

The suspect seemed fine, but that didn’t mean anything. “How are you disabled?”

“I have a brain injury from football. I forget things.”

Like killing someone?
Jackson wondered. “How do you pay for the space here?”

“With my disability check.”

Jackson wanted to know where Sheppard collected his mail, but it wasn’t important at the moment. “When did you arrive here tonight, at your storage unit?” He couldn’t call it a
home
.

“I’m not sure, but it was after dark.”

“When did you encounter Craig?”

“I saw someone on the ground in front of his unit, so I went over there.” Sheppard’s forehead creased with the memory. “Craig was dead. Someone stabbed him.”

The blood on Sheppard’s face had dried, but it reminded Jackson that this man was probably a killer. “Who stabbed him, Todd? Was that you? Were you mad at Craig?”

“No. I liked Craig.” The suspect’s face held no malice, no dishonesty.

Had he forgotten the fight or was he just a bystander… who happened to get a bloody nose later? “How long had you known Craig?”

“Since he moved in.”

“When was that?”

“I’m not sure. A month? He was saving for an apartment.”

“What did you do when you saw Craig’s body?”

“I cried.”

The simplicity and compassion threw Jackson off his game for a moment. This man was either a brilliant psychopath or a gentle giant. “Have you ever hurt anyone, Todd?”

“Not since I played football. And even then, I didn’t mean to.”

“What did you do next? After you cried for Craig?”

“I tried to help him, but he was dead. So I went to the tavern and called 911.”

“You called 911 and came back here and went to sleep?”

“Yes. My brain just shuts down sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you give your name?”

“I didn’t want any trouble.”

For the moment, Jackson believed him. “Can I take a sample of the blood on your face?”

“Why?”

“I want to make sure it’s not Craig’s.”

“It’s not. I had a nosebleed.”

Jackson didn’t know if that was actual permission, but he dug in his carryall for a DNA swab. “I’m just going to get a little bit of the blood on the end of this stick, okay?” He moved slowly toward the man, but Sheppard didn’t flinch. Still, Jackson planned to leave him handcuffed.

After he bagged the swab, he glanced at Evans. “Did you check his record?” She always had her little computer tablet with her and was quick with database searches.

Evans nodded. “No violence. Just a theft one charge long ago and a more recent public drunkenness charge.”

“I wasn’t drunk.” Sheppard sounded upset for the first time. “They gave me the wrong medication.”

“I believe you.” Jackson wanted to keep him calm. “I can’t let you go back into your sleeping space tonight because we still need to check out things in there. So we have two choices: jail or the Mission.”

The suspect’s massive body tensed. “They won’t let me into the Mission this late.”

“They will if we take you.”

“I don’t want to go to their church in the morning.”

“You can leave then and come back here. We’ll be done.”

Sheppard scowled. “All right.”

Relieved, Jackson stood. He was anxious to leave the claustrophobic trailer and felt glad he didn’t have to book Sheppard into jail, a time-consuming, pointless process unless they filed homicide charges. The underfunded facility released almost everyone, so the booking process was mostly a paper trail and a place to hold the suspect for short while.

Evans clicked off her video recorder. “Do you want me to take him?”

“No. I’ll send a uniform.” Jackson turned to Sheppard. “Will you stay here tomorrow in case I need to talk to you again?”

“I don’t like to stay inside during the day.” The big man still looked upset. “But you can find me at the library or the Catholic Services Center.”

“Good.” Jackson gestured for him to get up and turn around. He caught himself holding his breath as he took the cuffs off. But Sheppard just shook out his hands and rubbed his wrists. The cuffs had been snug on his thick arms.

They stepped outside into the rain. The first patrol officer stoically waited for further instructions. If there had been any homes nearby, Jackson would have sent him out to pound on doors looking for witnesses who might have seen or heard something. But this wasn’t a residential area and it was nearing midnight.

“I need you to take Mr. Sheppard to the Mission for the night, then go home after that.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

“Don’t forget the Goldsteins are still in their car.”